


Something You Can’t See

by twelveshots



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Married Shipwrights, Minor Violence, One Piece: Stampede
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23385661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelveshots/pseuds/twelveshots
Summary: When Iceburg is given an invitation to the pirate festival, he entrusts Paulie to go in his stead. Accompanied by Lulu, Tilestone, and some gambling money, the three make their way to what can only be a sight to behold. With a crowd larger than anything Paulie has ever seen, he figured he would recognize a few faces.He didn’t think he would see the one he’s tried to forget.
Relationships: Iceburg/Paulie (One Piece), Paulie/Rob Lucci
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Something You Can’t See

Humid didn’t even begin to describe the inescapable heat around them. The air on Delta Island, where the Pirate Festival opening ceremony was being held, was heavy and thick—like the moment before a storm that would never break. Instead, the cloudless sky only made the sun beat down on them that much harder. The metal of the train car under Paulie’s thighs was especially hot, warming right though the stiff fabric of his tailor-made suit. It hadn’t been broken in yet; it was made specially for this trip and slipped onto his drafting table the morning before they’d left, meticulously wrapped and tied off with a bow. When Paulie asked Iceburg about it, the older man’s lips pressed tighter into that sly smile he wore so damn well.

Humidity in denim he could handle—it had been second nature for years. But Paulie was still getting used to the way wool blends clung to him in heat like this. He smoothed the fabric cinched to his chest as Tilestone cheered especially loudly at a consortium from a neighboring island that passed by.

Iceburg had elected not to go, despite the invitation to the Festival being specifically addressed to him. 

“Well,” he considered one morning over tea as Paulie tried to convince him he was long-overdue for a vacation.

“Would _you_ trust Zambai to run things over at the Dock if we left?” Iceburg noted with the slightest, nearly inaudible sigh. Still, that smile remained. Fixed in place, never faltering. Sturdy as every last one of his ships.

“You should go, though. Let everyone get a chance to know the better half of Galley-La.”

If Iceburg wasn’t Iceburg, Paulie would have gone red in the face in an attempt to convince him he was anything but. Even two years ago, long before they were married, Iceburg wouldn’t have tolerated any such protests.

Paulie found himself idly thumbing the metal band around his finger. Still cool, despite the heat.

“Of course they’d have a casino,” Lulu whistled as they passed by it along their parade route. Paulie couldn’t see anything under those dark shades, but he could practically feel the other man’s eyes glimmering.

“How’s a few rounds of cards and drinks sound whenever this thing wraps up?”

“I really shouldn’t...” Paulie replied through a puff of smoke, cigar bobbing between his lips as he spoke. “I’m supposed to be setting a good example here in Iceburg’s place.”

“Iceburg wouldn’t want you to _not_ have fun while you’re on vacation,” Lulu retorted. “Plus, we have plenty of time these next couple of days. Let’s make the best of it so we’re refreshed when we go back.”

This was true. Not that Paulie needed much convincing. He was more responsible now—nothing like the empty frame of the man he used to be: a skeleton of a hull, with nothing but exposed beams and uncovered work left to rot in the sun.

* * *

Hours later and a few hundred extra berries in his pocket, Paulie parted with ways with Lulu, who was trying to win back his losses in vain at another table. The walk back to their accommodations was easy enough, so the mild buzz he felt wasn’t a big concern.

Despite the late hour, the Pirate Festival was in full force. Music, sporadic bursts of yelling, and the constant white noise of conversation filled the light-lined streets and winding paths of Delta Island. Vendors with freshly-smoked meats and baskets of tropical fruit showed no signs of closing up shop, even as the moon hung over their heads. Paulie’s boots felt lighter, and he was halfway through his cigar when a sight made his blood run cold.

It was a sliver of a display for only a moment, carved out amongst hundreds of other bodies, but the long, dark hair cascading over pale skin was unmistakable. That hat, despite being a different color, was just as menacing as the one scorched into the back of his brain. Eyes he had watched a thousand times before fixed on him once again. Paulie’s eyes widened as his legs remained fixed in place, miraculously remaining upright despite feeling like the consistency of jelly. 

The bustling activity of the crowd moved in a way that Paulie lost sight of him. He shifted to look past the crowd at another angle, but any trace of the other man that may have been there was already gone.

That distinct feeling of dread was back in his stomach, and Paulie felt like he was going to be sick. Someone shoved into him in passing and cursed, but it barely registered with the blond—at least not with the threat of bile at the back of his throat. It wasn’t until he quickly dodged off of the main path and ducked behind a few buildings that he realized he hadn’t taken a breath this entire time. He exhaled shakily, cold sweat already clinging to his brow, before shoving his hands in his pockets and quickly making his way back to the hotel.

Rob Lucci was alive and here for whatever goddamn reason. Maybe he was here to finish what he started two years ago, when he split the earth from under Paulie and the rest of Water Seven and nearly swallowed them all in his sociopathic wake. But if Lucci was in fact here, that meant he couldn’t be there, and more importantly, Iceburg wasn’t in his sights. 

At least not yet.

Paulie deadbolted the door to his room as soon as he set foot in it, despite being keenly aware that if what he saw was true, it wouldn’t make a difference. Thankfully, Tilestone and Lulu’s rooms flanked either side of his, so if he wasn’t just imagining all this, someone (possibly) might hear his screams.

All of those scattered scars across his body swelled in a palpable phantom ache.

The thought of calling Iceburg and letting him know passed through his mind amidst a thousand other fleeting ones, but Paulie ultimately decided against it. The worst case scenario was that it would make Iceburg act and willingly enter this hell. The best was that this was all a figment of his imagination and he’d needlessly work up an already overworked man—who he just so happened to love dearly—and who also just so happened to be infinitely more important than himself.

Paulie stayed up late into the night, time split between restlessly inspecting the edges of blades tied together with rope that he concealed in his sleeves and tending to what was supposed to be a celebratory bottle of top-shelf whiskey.

* * *

The next day, the sun was just as relentless and the arriving pirates were just as loud. Only now, the fabric of today’s suit felt even more unforgiving. Stiff and refusing to give when he moved in certain ways. It was the first suit he purchased for himself after his promotion—clearly, it was missing Iceburg’s invaluable expertise on breathable fabric. 

Paulie was already on his third cigar of the morning and nursing a hangover when Lulu met him outside their hotel to walk around and take in the sights. He couldn’t think of an excuse to bail that Lulu would ever accept without prying, so against every ounce of his better judgment, Paulie joined him.

“You’re not looking too hot,” Lulu noted, eyes uncharacteristically cresting over his sunglasses.

“Long night,” Paulie muttered in a tone telling the other man he was leaving it at that. Lulu raised an eyebrow, but dropped the matter entirely. 

The rest of the day was unremarkable where it mattered, much to Paulie’s relief. With every passing hour, he was becoming increasingly comfortable with chalking up the ghosts of his past to an overactive imagination after a night of drinking and the residual adrenaline of a winning streak. Apprehension turned to tentative relief, loosening up even more as the sun dipped below the Delta skyline. Naturally, the Water Seven establishment decided to celebrate the eve of the main event of the Festival with a night on the town. They bounced from bar to bar, catching up with acquaintances from neighboring islands and pirate crews that were clients from years past. The captains that had commissioned ships specifically from Dock One were always the ones that bought them a round of drinks, with hefty slaps on backs and the sounds of clinking glasses drowned out by laughter making any residual tension slowly slip away.

Miraculously, despite the nostalgia of stories of ships past, all of them completely sidestepped the mention of Lucci, Kaku, or Kalifa. The traitors were completely off of Paulie’s mind and he could finally, thankfully, relax.

The shipwrights stumbled their way back to the hotel and bid each other goodnight, collectively fumbling with long skeleton keys and fingers that were working too slowly, all laughing louder than they should have for the hour of the night it was.

Paulie locked the door behind him and was immediately greeted with a hand around his throat. Before he could even let out a choked noise, he was slammed directly into the nearest wall. They must have been thicker than he had hoped, because despite the hard thud and rattle of drywall, there wasn’t the slightest sound of concern from Tilestone or Lulu.

“I see you haven’t changed a bit, Paulie,” a voice that could make his skin crawl on cue hissed against his ear. The emphasis on his name was as hard as any kick to the ribs, paired with a cruel thumb grazing over the hard knot in the middle of his throat.

Paulie finally choked out a low sound before the grip around his neck loosened and he fell, unceremoniously, to his knees.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I believe the invitation was addressed to our boss. Not you.”

Paulie didn’t know that his stomach could twist any more than it already had, but those carefully chosen words made nausea hit him as hard as a direct impact from Rocketman.

“He’s not... your boss,” Paulie gasped as he tried to sit upright. But before he could get on his own two feet, he was pulled up by the collar of his suit by an inhumane amount of strength. 

So this was the real Rob Lucci. Worlds apart from the foreman of Dock One who needed help moving lumber for masts. Layer upon layer of meticulously crafted lies, his foundation strong, as anyone from Dock One would expect.

“I stand corrected. _This_ is new,” the voice that now haunted his nightmares noted. Paulie had only heard it for a few minutes before the threat of flames and torrential waves took priority, but the tenor and tone had effortlessly worked its way under his skin and taken root. Lucci rubbed the fabric of Paulie’s collar between his fingers before forcing him onto his feet again.

“That dusty old jacket wasn’t quite doing it for your new job title?”

Another chill shot straight through Paulie’s blood. The man in front of him would be unrecognizable if what happened on that night two years ago wasn’t a permanent fixture in the front of Paulie’s mind. His voice, unfiltered through the elaborate ruse of a bird, was cold and cruel. The blond looked away before unforgiving fingers pulled his head upright by his jaw, and Paulie’s gaze was forced back to Lucci’s half-disinterested stare.

“A man in your new position should know it’s rude to not look someone in the eye when they’re speaking to you.”

“Heh. I think I actually preferred it when you didn’t speak.” Paulie smirked defiantly before the sharp nails at his stubbled chin dug in even more.

Lucci’s jaw set just so before slamming Paulie’s back hard against that same wall. His knee bent out, wedging harshly between the blond’s legs. This... this was a particular dance they had done countless times before, only it was usually under the veil of too many beers after too many hours of working in the sun. Paulie tried to shove Lucci away before the dark-haired man closed the remaining distance between them. He pinned him in place and yanked his tanned hand up to eye level. A thin, pale finger traced the loop of metal around Paulie’s finger as his eyes narrowed on the other man’s gaze. Pointedly questioning, without saying a word. That much Paulie was used to reading.

Iceburg, working his usual magic, had kept everything about their marriage quiet. He was well aware of the target already plastered on his own back, and he’d do anything to make sure Paulie didn’t have the same on his. It didn’t matter what kind of intelligence you had from government-issued reports—only people intimately familiar with the daily rhythm of Water Seven would have their suspicions. Even fewer actually knew.

That invasive finger smoothed across the band once more as the grip around Paulie’s wrist only tightened, threatening to pop.

Despite every instinct directing his attention elsewhere, Paulie was struck by another revelation. The sensation of Lucci’s hand felt markedly different against his own. Smoother, softer. Callouses from expert craftsmanship and countless hours of manual labor had vanished without a trace. The feeling that realization left in his stomach made his chest tighten even more.

Paulie twisted his arm out of Lucci’s grip, which really only meant that Lucci let him. When he tried to shove Lucci off of him, he didn’t budge.

“...What the hell do you want from me?”

There was silence for a moment, and for a split second, Paulie could swear he saw the Lucci he knew looking back at him. A deep gaze that said more than Hattori ever needed to, watching Paulie over his glass from across Blueno’s Bar or staring up at him before hooking an arm around his neck in whoever’s bed they happened to end up in first.

Those full lips pressed tighter together before Lucci’s eyes turned cold again. Maybe they always were, and Paulie was looking for something he couldn’t quite see. Without warning, Lucci flipped Paulie around, pressing him face-first against the wall as claws dug into his back. The blond could feel the other man’s breath hot against his neck as he pressed against him to better reach his ear. Lucci smelled exactly the same, like he had never left.

“Denim suits you better, Paulie.”

And with that, he was off of him in an instant, along with the warmth Paulie hadn’t even registered until it was gone. When he spun around, Lucci was nowhere to be found.

After a thorough, nerve-splitting search of every inch of his hotel room turning up not a single hint of anyone else, Paulie finally, shakily, exhaled. He took a minute to collect himself before promptly wedging a chair against the door and lighting one of many desperately-needed cigars.

* * *

Between not getting any sleep and the events that prompted an evacuation of Delta Island the next day, Paulie didn’t even notice the claw marks Lucci left in his suit until he pulled it out of his suitcase. Fingers calloused from work traced over the biggest slash, which just so happened to be in the same place a man in a bull mask stabbed him years ago, completing the last of an intricate set of non-lethal wounds. Paulie felt the air leave his lungs as the matching scar on his back ached. 

He tossed the suit away without hesitation. It was old and ill-fitting, but most importantly, it wasn’t the suit that was so carefully wrapped and left on his drafting table not even a week prior, so it wasn’t much of a loss anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to @pseudomachine for editing and @marimoes for summarizing!


End file.
